Flight
by Naval
Summary: The little boy had dreams, dreams of flight and of finding hidden treasure; why did nobody believe him? Flashback about little Jimbo. One-shot.


The children gathered in a huddle, squatted, like baby animals against the Montressorian chill.

"What do you think it is?"

"Is it still alive?"

They whispered to each other in hushed voices, afraid to startle the creature that lay at their feet, for fear that it would wake up – Dracula from his coffin – and goodness knew what happened then.

"I know what it is!"

The little boy stood apart from the group, hands drenched in oil, and clothes caked in soot. In his hands he held in treasure tighter to his chest, knowing that the bigger kids would pry it away from him if they got the chance. Regret crept under his skin, burning his cheeks, inflating his large, teal eyes. He knew they'd look, oh, why did he open his mouth?

The biggest boy, a giant of a ten-year-old, stood up from his scrutinizing squat.

"Look everybody!" He pointed his trunk mockingly. "It's Jim Chicken!"

The crowd behind him, interest for the carcass completely lost, joined his side and guffawed at his joke.

"Whatcha got there, Chicken?" He motioned to the slimy, dirty board in the little boy's hands.

Jim stood, feet frozen, afraid to stay, afraid to run, rooted to the ground. His eyes darted from one bully to the next, they were closing in, pinning him against the wall behind him. Fear, trepidation, terror sprang out from his throat:

"I-it's m-m-my solar s-surfer! And one day, I-I'm going t-to fly with it!"

The group laughed. From wet chortles to enormous guffawing bellows.

"I will too!" Jim retorted, indignation giving his strength. "One day, I'll fly all the way… All the way to Flint's Trove! I'm gonna fly… And I'm gonna see Treasure Planet!" He pulled a thick, binded book from his bag. "See?!" He brandished the story and pointed to the cover. "I'm gonna go there one day."

He was met with another round of snickers, hoots and snorts. The nobility of his dream went unnoticed. The biggest boy pried the thick, binded story from his oily fingers and flipped it nonchalantly into a puddle.

"Whoops."

Jim stared, his mouth hung agape, aghast at what he'd seen. "My… Papa gave me that…" His voice choked with tears.

Merciless as they were, the older children knew when bullying came to an end. If an adult came upon the boy, odds were they'd be in trouble. Running as fast as their legs carried them, they fled their crime scene.

The boy crawled to the puddle and fished out 'The Loot of a Thousand Worlds'. The binding had snapped, and pages cascaded from his grasp. He hastily picked them up before the wind could, forgetting the order, and shoveled them into his little bag. The oily solar surfer leaned against the wall, recovering from its damaged pride.

And, not too far away, he saw it. The little creature lying spread-eagled on the ground. Its white wings were stained brown from lying on the dusty ground. The cause of the whole problem, Jim would have loathed the sick beast. But yet, his heart wrenched to see its body, broken, battered, bruised.

He knew what it was. He wasn't lying. It was a Candarian Zapwing, like in his storybook, and only a baby one at that. Its long, furry tail was missing some tufts of fur, and its beak had been ruined, scratched and snapped by the older kids' excessive scrutiny. It had probably fallen out of its nest and was too young to know how to fly back up. No matter how hard it called for help, no one would pick him back up to bring him home. Odds were, his mother would, but his father wouldn't let her. Animals were like that.

The wind was picking up, tugging at his back. And, with a wild flourish, he let go of the Zapwing, where it flew into the air. It rode to the heavens in all its grace, the wind wiped it clean, and guided it on its way. It flew and flew, away from the world, until it was nothing but white speck in the sky, indistinguishable from the clouds. An angel in flight to Nirvana.

That Zapwing continued to fly. It flew through the ages. It flew through the years. It flew and it flew. It will continue to fly until the day that little boy, the chicken with greasy wings, joins him in the air.

Thirteen years later that chicken's a Hawk.

James Pleiades Hawkins. The boy who flew to Treasure Planet.


End file.
